


Commitments

by Diana Williams (dkwilliams)



Category: Donald Strachey Mysteries (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-17
Updated: 2007-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 05:37:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1634366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dkwilliams/pseuds/Diana%20Williams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Donald Strachey doesn't do commitments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Commitments

**Author's Note:**

> Some of the info used in these stories comes from the Strachey books, but the characters are definitely the movie version.
> 
> Written for Kylie Lee

Donald Strachey didn't do commitments.

He'd left a decent job with a large detective agency in the City, trading a steady paycheck and benefits for the freedom of being his own boss. Sure, the money wasn't as good, but he made enough to get by. And if his larder ran more to dented-can-specials from Price Chopper than fancy steaks and wines, well, the ability to take cases or leave them as he chose was worth it.

Because Donald Strachey didn't do commitments.

He lived in an apartment on a month to month lease, paying for a post office box because it was easier to pick up and move if you didn't have to fill out change of address forms. So the place was small and cramped, barely big enough to swing a cat - small meant he could be packed up and moved out in a weekend or less. Besides, he didn't own a cat. Or a dog. Pets were too big a commitment, always expecting you to turn up to feed and walk them.

And Donald Strachey didn't do commitments. Not since Kyle and his discharge and...everything.

Lovers were an even bigger commitment so Donald steered as far away from that as possible. Work absorbed most of his time, and when it didn't, there were plenty of places where he could go to satisfy an itch. Plenty of guys looking for the same thing he was - a quick, anonymous suck or fuck before they disappeared back into the closet. Or returned home to their unsuspecting wife or partner. And that suited him just fine.

And if his life wasn't perfect, well, it was close enough and he was mostly content.

Which is why he didn't see trouble in the form of Timothy Callahan until it was too late.

He was sitting at the bar in one of his favorite clubs, a place where the music was as smooth as the martinis, listening to the former and sipping the latter when a smooth masculine voice murmured, "Pardon me, is this seat taken?"

Donald didn't want company so he looked up, intending to brush the guy off. His words died in his mouth. The man standing there was just his type: attractive, tall and slim, blond with amazing blue eyes behind his glasses, and a smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. Donald gestured at the vacant seat.

They introduced themselves over martinis, got to know each other better over conversation, then got to know each other _really_ better over a blow job in the men's room. It was when he had his mouth around Timmy's cock that he was taken aback when he realized they'd already met - the previous night in Washington Park, as a matter of fact. Still, he'd done the same guy more than once before, and it _was_ a very nice cock, so he finished what he'd started, enjoyed the reciprocal favor, and then proceeded to bid farewell to his new friend.

Which was when Timmy had mentioned the film _noir_ festival at the local art house Friday night. Donald loved those films and there was no denying that they were a lot more fun to watch with someone else, so he agreed to meet Timmy there, maybe catch a bite to eat afterward.

Which had turned out to be take-out Chinese at Timmy's apartment. They didn't leave his place all weekend.

After that, there were coffee dates and dinners out, quickies in the backseat of his car and long, slow Sunday morning sex. But it wasn't a relationship. They weren't exclusive and they didn't talk about their feelings. They just had sex and did things together, and that's the way Donald liked it.

Which is why it was such a shock when, on an early December night eight months after their first meeting, Timmy walked into Donald's apartment, found him blowing the twink he'd picked up in a bar that night, and walked back out again.

Donald knelt there, stunned, for a long moment before he jumped to his feet and raced after Timmy. He caught up with him as he was unlocking his car, grabbed his arm and pulled him back onto the sidewalk.

"Timmy..." he began, then didn't know what else to say. There was a pinched look around Timmy's eyes and he was avoiding looking at Donald as if it physical hurt him to do so.

"I should have called," Timmy said, his voice sounding rusty as if with disuse.

A lick of anger made Donald snap, "Yeah, maybe you should have." Timmy flinched and the anger melted away. Donald sighed. "We never said anything about being exclusive."

Timmy looked at him directly, that sharp, focused stare that seemed to pierce straight through to Donald's soul. He realized, suddenly, that no one else looked at him that way. No one saw him like Timmy did.

"No," Timmy said quietly. "We didn't."

Donald shivered in the chill air, wishing he'd grabbed his coat. "But you were thinking we were."

Timmy nodded.

Exclusive. Synonymous with commitment. Just the thought made Donald's stomach tighten painfully, made him feel like he was closed in a dark, tight space. "If I couldn't do that, if I couldn't promise to be exclusive, could you accept that?"

Timmy sighed. "You are not a child and I'm not your parent, Donald. I don't have the right to tell you what to do or not to do. You are the only master of your soul."

Donald ground his teeth; sometimes, Timmy's religious streak could be very annoying. "But would you - could we still be lovers - if I couldn't."

Timmy looked away, stared at the ground for a long moment. "I don't know," he said finally. "I'm not trying to be coy or evasive. I just - don't know. I don't like it. I won't lie to you and say that I do. Maybe I shouldn't care but I do." He gave Donald a sad, wistful half-smile. "I've got to go."

Sudden panic gripped Donald as he watched Timmy get in his car. "Wait!" he said. "We're still on for tomorrow night, right? Dinner and the Bogart film festival?"

Timmy hesitated, not looking at him. "I don't know, Donald. Maybe we should take a break for a little while. Sort things out. I'll call you."

Donald stood there, open-mouthed, watching Timmy drive off. And somehow, he had a feeling that he had just seen the last of Timothy J. Callahan.

*****************

The next morning didn't make him feel any better about the situation. In fact, he felt considerably worse. After he'd returned to his apartment, he'd kicked out the twink, poured a healthy shot of alcohol, and then crawled into bed with the rest of the bottle and pulled the covers over his head. By the time he managed to pry his eyes open, it was noon and he felt as if a moose had kicked his head before taking up residence in his mouth.

Several pain relievers and black coffee knocked back the ache in his head but did nothing to ease the ache in his heart. Somehow, without his knowledge or awareness, Timothy Callahan had crawled inside of him and taken up residence. But that wasn't the worst part. That would be how empty he felt at that thought that it might be over, that Timmy might be gone forever.

After two hours of moping around his apartment, he couldn't stand to look at himself or the four walls anymore. His office wasn't much better; one of Timmy's ties was crumpled on his desk, a left-over from Timmy's surprise visit during lunch earlier that week. Donald fled, leaving his car parked outside as he took to foot. He slowly walked through the streets, glancing into the store windows as he passed. Christmas decorations sparkled and twinkled, gifts temptingly displayed everywhere, but the sight did nothing to dispel his inner gloom. He and Timmy had talked about spending the holidays together; he'd been invited by Timmy's mother to join them for Christmas dinner. He'd been looking forward to it, even if winter was his least favorite season. Now it looked like he'd screwed that up

Unless he could settle for just one man.

He paused, staring unseeingly into the window of a jewelry store. He'd done it before, when he and Kyle.... But a lot had changed; he'd been a different man. He'd believed in things he wasn't sure he believed in now. Like duty, and love.

He sighed and turned away from the window, wandering past a few more stores before stopping again outside a pet store. It was getting bitterly cold as night began falling, so he went inside.

A sign inside said that pet adoptions were taking place, and Donald watched with a half-smile as a woman and her daughter seriously studied the kittens available. Ah, it was so easy to trust in love when you were young, even if it was the love of a pet.

A flurry of barking caught his attention and he turned. A small white fluffy dog was pressing up against the bars of his cage, wagging his tail furiously as he realized he'd caught Donald's attention. He couldn't help smiling at the dog's antics, and he crouched by the cage to extend his fingers to it. The dog eagerly nuzzled his fingers and barked again, wagging his tail.

"My, he seems quite taken with you!" a voice said behind him. He glanced up to see a handsome young man smiling down at him, a gleam that Donald knew only too well in his eyes. "Are you looking for a pet for the holidays? Perhaps for yourself...or a loved one?"

The come-on was obvious and for a second, Donald was tempted to take him up on the offer implicit. Then the dog barked and Donald turned his attention back to him.

"What's the story on this guy?"

The man snapped back into professional mode. "He's a little over a year old, has had all his shots and little operation, very well taken care of until his owner died recently in an auto accident. The family doesn't want him, so..."

Donald could hear the "can you believe people like that?" in the man's tone. He scratched the dog behind his ears. "Does he have a name?"

"Ah, yes. He's registered, as a matter of fact. Doctor Watson - his owner was a mystery buff."

Donald stared at the now-wriggling-with-delight dog in disbelief. Sherlock Holmes was one of Timmy's favorite detectives, second only to the Charles'. He owned DVDs of nearly every incarnation of him, from Rathbone to Brett. Donald had claimed to be jealous but had the newest released copy hidden in his sock drawer, wrapped for Christmas.

It couldn't have been more of a sign if it had been accompanied by Three Wise Men.

And maybe it was time for a commitment. To a pet who would expect him to be home every night to feed and walk him. To a partner who would expect him to be faithful, to be there to grow old with him.

"I'll take him," Donald said decisively. "Just - start the paperwork, put together everything I need to take care of him. I need to get something at the jewelry store next door."

*****************

After knocking on Timmy's door for what felt like hours, Donald was relieved when it finally opened and he was treated to Timmy's familiar, irritated look.

"Donald, what are you doing here? I thought we agreed to take a break from seeing each other."

"No, you agreed to that, in lieu of other agreements on my part. Here." Donald pressed Watson against Timmy's chest, forcing him to take a step back into his apartment. Donald followed, taking advantage of Timmy's bewilderment to close the door behind him.

"You brought me a dog?"

"No, actually Watson's mine." Donald started patting down his pockets, looking for the box he'd put there.

Timmy, unflappable Timmy, goggled at him. "You got a dog. You hate pets - your apartment doesn't _allow_ pets."

Donald shrugged. "So I'll move." He located the box and held it out to Timmy. "Trade."

Looking more and more puzzled, Timmy handed Donald the dog and accepted the box. He opened it and stared at the pair of gold wedding bands inside and his jaw dropped. "Donald?"

Donald flushed, looking down at Watson. "I thought a lot about this since yesterday. If it's a choice between having any one else I want except you, or having you and no one else, then I choose you." He looked up at Timmy and said simply, "Nothing else matters if you're not there to share my life. And Watson needs a second dad. So - will you?"

Timmy's expression softened and he reached out to touch Donald's cheek, then pulled him into an embrace. "The truth is out; Donald Strachey is a romantic sap."

Donald would have protested but since Timmy kissed him at that moment, and Watson decided to join the celebration by licking both of them enthusiastically, he gave up and concentrated on kissing him back.

********************

_Flash forward several years_

As they sat in Donald's car in the alley behind the Institute, after Ray had given him the disk that might solve Paul's murder, the other man reached toward Donald, stroked his chest in a way that was a blatant invitation. Years earlier, Donald might have been tempted, might have taken him up on a quick one-on-one in the backseat of his car. But now, as he glanced down at his hand on the steering wheel, the flash of gold on his finger caught his eye and he smiled slightly.

"I'm married," he said simply, honestly. "At least as close as two men can get in this country. More importantly, I'm in love with him."

And he knew, beyond any doubt, that that was the truth. Because Donald Strachey did commitments.

The End

 


End file.
